


The Devolution of a Love

by arkadianmouse



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, Introspection, Romance, Self-Discovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-08
Updated: 2012-04-08
Packaged: 2017-11-03 07:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/378837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arkadianmouse/pseuds/arkadianmouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All her life, Natasha had collected desires like trinkets. Now, the Avengers initiative has made her question her definition of love-- as well as her opinion of herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devolution of a Love

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Short scenes of violence and murder. 
> 
> This fic is more of an introspection into Natasha's life before and during the Avengers. It does not center on her relationship with Clint, nor does it end with a definitive outline of their relationship, but that is a large part of it. 
> 
> This is more about how she deals with herself, and how not only other people view her, but also how she views herself (I guess?). Feel free to view it any way you see fit. 
> 
> Also, I slipped in a tiny hint of Tony Stark/Steve Rogers. Woops?

Natalia kills her first man when she is fourteen. She kneels above him on the bed for a few minutes, staring at the neat slice across his throat, the rivulets of blood pouring steadily out.

Afterwards, she goes into the hotel’s bathroom and throws up her dinner, before sneaking out the window onto the quiet street below.

She justifies her actions the next morning, tells herself that he was a bad man, someone who had hurt her—even though she had had very little interaction with him before that night. He had barely even laid a finger on her before she had dispatched him quickly, easily—too easily, but Natalia does not dwell on that.

It is years later, a number of killings later, before she decides to go to America and start a new life. She tells no one, has no one to tell, and instead gets on a plane to New York, cuts her hair short, dyes it a deeper, darker, brilliant red—the color of that first kill. 

\---

In her motherland, they had taught her how to use weapons, how to use stealth, and most importantly how to use her body. She had fallen in love, had fallen in love with the idea of the family that she had never had, until she had been hurt so many times that she realized emotional connections were a mistake.

She became the Black Widow, painted her face, wore tight clothing—did anything she could to remind people of her sex and her sexuality. She wanted to be loved, and this was the only way she knew how to get that. 

She was the best in her business—she snuck in and killed fast, gained information even faster, finished the job smoothly and easily and with naught but a lipstick stain to remember her by. 

And then she was standing over one young man, watching the river of red flow from his neck, and she was struck by the memory of that night—the memory of blood and vomit and lust and fear. In that moment, she knew she needed to escape this life, needed to leave and find somewhere else.

She changes her name, keeps her name. She is now Natasha Romanoff, but she is still the Black Widow. She is in love with her country, and yet she cannot bear to stay in it any longer.

\---

Even after leaving that place that reminds her of love and blood, she continues to search for belonging, and every time ends in tragedy even if she does not wish it. She thrives on abstract concepts like love, like adventure, but in the end each is stripped away to lust, to intrigue.  
She believes that she is a bad person.

S.H.I.E.L.D. recruits her and tells her she is not.

The train her to use her body in different ways, to distract rather than attract, and she likes it more. She is more deadly this way, when she does not have to be laden down with false emotions. Any emotions are given to her from other people, and she lives for it.

They still make her dress tight, and of course this shows off her figure, but around here even the males wear this skintight attire. Besides, the material is flexible and durable, and she tells herself that when people stare at her it is because she is dangerous. 

And oh, is she dangerous.

\---

Clint is not dangerous. He is goofy, and he grins at her, and he makes rude, suggestive jokes.

And yet when he looks at her, his eyes remain up, and he does not even have to force himself to do so. She wonders about him after their first meeting, when he swoops down to jokingly kiss her hand and yet, despite the chapped lips brushing against her cool skin, he remains there for only a minute, and does not even glance at her breasts as he straightens up.

For a moment she wonders if she does not interest him, if females do not interest him, but there is something that makes her not believe that. She has learned to read bodies over the years—the body is the only thing you can trust about a person—and his has interested painted all over it. 

He just hides it better.

In the end, he is simply the better person.

\---

As time goes on and the Avengers initiative begins to form, Natasha notices that there are others who look at her differently than just a conquest to be had.

Tony Stark is the first one she notices, because Tony Stark is the first one she encounters out of S.H.I.E.L.D. And he stares at her, of course, stares at every part of her body and waggles his eyebrows and positively leers. 

But she can tell it’s an act. Tony Stark is an inventor first and foremost, and he thinks he understands human actions but in reality he can only understand cogs and gears.  
So she forgives him. 

Bruce Banner stares at her as well, as a scientist would, but he looks more like a frightened rabbit gazing cautiously at the wolf stalking it. She revels in that feeling, that she is dangerous, and it takes her back to those days when she truly was. 

But Bruce is skittish because he knows that he is dangerous also, and Natasha respects his reserve. She befriends him, and when he looks at her later, it is fond, and she revels in that as well.

Thor is a god, and so Natasha does not even think he looks at her. He sees her as another mortal, a spunky spitfire of one, but a mortal nonetheless. And Natasha doesn’t really care, because she does not pay him much heed either—he is loud and brash and funny, but they do not have much in common, and so they have nothing to connect about.

Captain America—Steve Rogers—The Man from the Past—he does not look at her either. He looks down at his feet when she is near, averts his eyes, and Natasha isn’t entirely sure why. 

Natasha thinks that he mourns someone. 

She sort of wishes she knew who it was, as there is some instinct in her that wants to help him, and that is something she has never experienced before. It must be those puppy blue eyes that get to her.

But soon she realizes that Stark has it under control, that he knows just where to poke and prod to bring out the fire in Rogers, and Natasha realizes also that maybe he isn’t as bad with human beings as everyone thinks.

\---

It all comes back to Clint. 

The fight together, and they all form a close bond, and yet she and him grow closer than anyone—they are the mortals, the only stitch of normalcy amongst gods and giants and scientists and superheroes. 

They are so far from normal, though. That’s what always gets them.

They are both dangerous, they are all dangerous, and yet they use these “powers” to protect people.

It is novel to Natasha. And like everything else in her life, she finds herself falling in love with the Avengers.

She finds herself falling in love with Clint.

\---

And also like everything in her life, it comes crashing down within a few months of its inception.

Natasha sits on her standard-issue cot and hugs her knees to her chest. She doesn’t cry, because they had parted amicably—as best as two deadly assassins could.

They were too willing to confess, Natasha thinks to herself while she watches Clint gather up his things from her room—just a few CDs that she had never even listened to. They had too many things to tell each other—things that should have never been revealed to anyone. Secrecy was the first thing S.H.I.E.L.D. had taught them, and it was the one thing they didn’t want to bring into the bedroom.

They should have been more reserved, Natasha thinks, but of course it is too late. It had been good when it lasted, and perhaps, she lets herself think, they could try it again someday. 

She would see him tomorrow in training, and if she kicked a little harder than she ever did before, then the bruises would wear away within a few weeks, and in that same time she could patch up her heart.

\---

There is one thing that she acknowledges whenever she passes by Clint in the hall. He smiles at her cheekily, and she lets herself smile back, freely and easily. 

It is the thing she loves the most about her new life, something she would never have had without the Avengers. 

It is the simple fact that she no longer loves abstract ideas, nor does she place her faith in one man, no matter what he promises her. And that is not to say that she won’t, because Clint had told her that he’d wait for her, and she was willing to wait for him just the same.

For now, though, she only has love in her heart for herself, for the image she presents to the world. 

And if anyone has a problem with that image, well—she knows ninety-eight different ways to kill a man with a spoon, and she is all too willing to put that knowledge to use.


End file.
